Prim
by Ninja300100
Summary: Prims POV of the 74th, and 75th Hunger Games.
1. Nightmares

Effie Trinket walked up to the stage, in a puffy green skirt and a matching top with flowery sleeves. She smiled, baring her sharp teeth.

"As usual, ladies first!" She called. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Effie pulled off her gloves, revealing claws on the ends of her pale fingers. Her suddenly bloodshot eyes stared at me. I shivered, wondering why no one else seemed to be spooked by her demonic looks. Effie plunged her hand into the glass ball, and pulled out a small, delicate, piece of paper. She hadn't even opened it up when she grinned like a maniac, showing off fangs like a vampire, which had suddenly grown. Her hair shrank back into her head, and planted strange carvings on her head. Her already pale face got whiter, and the makeup was demolished. She turned her evil stare at me.

"And the girl tribute for the 74th Hunger Games is..."

But I already knew what this Effie-demon was going to say.

It was me.

I woke up screaming. "No! No! I don't want to go!"

"Hush, now, Prim. It's all right. It's only a dream, Prim." My mother's gentle voice tells me that I'm safe, and I force my breathing to slow down.

"Where's Katniss?" I ask when I finally accepted that I wasn't going into the Hunger Games.

"Your sister," she paused on the word "sister", "has probably gone hunting with Hazelle's son." I noticed how Ma refused to say Katniss' name. Ever since Papa died, their relationship had never been the same.

I sighed. Today was the reaping day, thus the nightmares. My name was I only in the reaping ball once, and compared with Katniss, who was entered eight times, I'm lucky. But like they always say, nothing is impossible.

I rolled out of my bed, groaning. My stomach was grumbling. Maybe the baker or the butcher would feel a little sympathetic today.

Ma was already in the kitchen, sorting out our herbs.

"Gale left this here for us." she said. She held up a small loaf of bread, still warm from being baked this morning. She also held a note hurriedly written on a leaf.

'Prim,

Thanks for the cheese. Gale traded this for you as a Reaping present. Enjoy it.

Katniss'

My jaw dropped to the ground.

"How- how did he get this? This kind of bread is always so expensive!" I exclaimed. My stomach let out a small growl.

Ma shrugged. She tore the loaf in half, and beckoned for me to eat. I grabbed my half and held it to my nose, letting the warm scent flow through my nose. "Come on, darling. Eat up. You want to look good for the Reaping." Ma said.

Suddenly my stomach went quiet again. "I... I don't think I'm very hungry any more..." I slowly rested the bread on the counter.

"Oh come on honey, you aren't going to get picked. You're only in that damned bowl once, I swear. You aren't getting picked, not over my dead body."

I grimaced, and Ma wrapped her arms around me in a comforting hug. I guess my chance really _was_ only one in a million, but there was still that little chance. That one little chance that I could be picked in the Hunger Games, the one chance that may lead me to my brutal death. Ma strokes my back, while whispering comforting words.

I think about what would happen if I got picked. I'd be doomed right from the beginning because of my size. I wouldn't even have good training, seeing as we have the drunken Haymitch Abernathy as our mentor. If I went straight for the Cornucopia, I'd get killed in the bloodbath. But if I ran away from the Cornucopia, I would starve to death. Katniss wouldn't, though. Katniss could shoot rabbits from the safety of a tree and wait out all the other tributes, just sitting happily in her tree.

A sudden purr stirs me from my thoughts. Buttercup. I pat my lap, and Buttercup leaps up. I stroked his ragged yellow fur that Katniss always hated. It doesn't matter about which animals she hates now, because today is the day which decides which two children will have to face thier eminent death, and which two families will shut the windows and close the curtains, so they can softly cry for their children in peace. Today is the Reaping.


	2. Two French Plaits

I spent the rest of the morning shivering in my bed, nibbling on the piece of bread while wondering if I could silently slip out of District 12, just to miss the Reaping. Nevermind, I'd get caught. They'd kill me, or torture me, or whip me 50 lashes and give me electric shocks and pull out my nails and cut out my tongue and have my ears and lips and nose and hands off and... Nope. I don't think I'm going to try to escape.

"Primrose, come here." Ma pulled off the rough covers, leaving me under the cold force of the open air. I guess it's not really that cold, I'm just overreacting.

I walked over to Ma, and she held a white blouse and a dusty, grayish-brownish skirt. Katniss's old outfit, only used on special occasions.

"Well, it doesn't fit perfectly but it will do for now." By 'it doesn't fit perfectly', Ma basically means 'it could possibly fit you if you grow really fast over the next 3 years'.

I got dressed quickly, and Ma did my hair in two long French plaits. "We want you looking the best you can today." I remained silent. Ma stood back to admire her work. All of a sudden the door flies open and Katniss walks in, carrying strawberries and fish.

"Oh, you look _beautiful!" _She exclaimed. I tried to force a smile on my face but the fad dread of the reaping forced it down. Katniss knelt down and gave me a reassuring hug, while completely ignoring Ma.

"I laid out something for you, too"

Katniss jumps up to glare at Ma. I wish she would stop it. It wasn't Ma's fault that Papa died.

See, what happened was that my father used to work in the mines. Go down every morning, before the sun rose, work hard, get paid feeble amounts, and return home well after dinner time. I hardly ever saw him, but when I did, he was a kind and loving man. But one day the mine exploded. Poof. Gone. He was dead, and we were suffering. It was an emergency, and everyone had to evacuate our school. All my class mates rushed out, but Katniss and I had organized that I would wait for her in my classroom. So I sat there, looking as calm as I could, while Katniss tried to find me. "Prim! Come on!" she screamed. She was crying. Why?

Well, now I know why. And I know why Katniss hates my mother as well. When someone you love dearly dies, it isn't the person who died that suffers forever after. It's the people who are still living.


End file.
